Let's Call The Whole Thing Off
by GlassParade
Summary: ...or, "Further Adventures In Trope Abuse." This is another installment in the Glee Trope!Verse, where nothing is sacred and I'm so, so sorry. Set at Dalton Academy and featuring Klaine and the Pips.


**Let's Call The Whole Thing Off**

**or**

**Further Adventures In Trope Abuse**

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was in a bad mood, so I decided to write another adventure in the Trope!Verse to cheer myself up. This installment takes place at Dalton, after the Kliss but before Regionals._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, but you bet your sweet Prada that I love making fun of it. Warnings: Cliches, tropes, and mockery ahoy! Watch out for falling adverbs._

"You take that back." Kurt's glasz eyes were wider than normal in their shock as he stared incredulously at his dapper traitor of a boyfriend. "You take it back right now."

Blaine stood his ground. "I will not. I refuse to concede ground when I know that I'm right." His own hazel eyes flashed with the fire of righteous truth, much like the overhead lighting was flashing off of the gleaming helmet of his well-gelled hair.

"But you're _not._ You couldn't be more _wrong,_" the countertenor protested. It had only been a week since they started dating, and here they were having a knock-down drag-out argument during a Warblers meeting. Where had it all gone wrong?

From his perch behind the Council table, Wes stood up and brought his mighty gavel slamming down with a bang. "Warbler Kurt! Warbler Blaine! This behavior is completely unacceptable!"

"I am in complete agreement," Trent burst out from his corner of the room. "This is a kangaroo court!"

Wes pointed the gavel threateningly. "Warbler Trent, you know it hasn't been more than seven days since you last used the term 'kangaroo court.' The requirement is that you allow a full three weeks. Rules exist for a reason. And speaking of rules..." He turned his attention back to the battling duo in the center of the room. "_You two_. We are supposed to be preparing for Regionals, we have no idea what you're going to be singing – and we _really_ have no idea what the two of you are arguing about!"

Blaine had slumped down onto one of the leather couches, crossing his arms in a sulk. "Please, Wes. This is not McKinley High. Kurt and I know perfectly well what we're going to be singing, we're not the ones who wait until the very last minute to put a set list together."

Kurt, still standing, looked down at his boyfriend – who might as well have been continuing to stand, the difference between him standing and sitting was so negligible with those short legs of his – and allowed his jaw to drop, he was so offended. "I can't believe you, Blaine Warbler - "

"Actually, it's Warbler Blaine," Wes corrected helpfully. "You got it backwards."

"I know what I said," Kurt huffed. "Blaine Warbler, how dare you insult my friends in that manner?"

Blaine looked up from under his extremely heavy eyebrows. "Insult? Are you saying there's not even a kernel of truth in what I just said? Because it's pretty much all you ever talk about whenever we've managed to come up for air this week."

"Come up for air?" Jeff looked up from the calculus homework he'd pulled out in a fit of boredom. "Like, you mean you were making out and stuff?"

"Tell us more," Nick chimed in.

Blaine and Kurt glanced over at their friends, briefly united in their confusion. Kurt gave voice to their thoughts. "What in the name of Dolce and Gabbana is wrong with the two of you?"

"Nothing," Nick shrugged idly. "We just like to know these things."

"We ship Klaine," piped up Jeff, a happy grin on his face. "So. Tell."

"No. No tell," Wes interrupted before either the walking fashion statement or his vaguely Eurasian boyfriend could let loose on the dynamic duo. "What were you two planning to sing?"

Blaine sighed and tried to run a hand through his hair in exasperation. He was stymied as usual by the insane amount of product he used. "I told you this. It's 'Candles,' by Hey Monday."

David, seated next to Wes, looked up. "That's not Top 40."

"You were _serious_ about that?" Wes clutched at his gavel in shock. "I thought you were joking. We can't sing that. How can we sing that? David's right, it's not Top 40. Absolutely not. No deviating from our usual routine."

"Oh, come on," the star tenor whined, pouting.

"No. Absolutely not." Wes was firm, like his grip on his gavel. "You have a list of songs to choose from. There are forty songs on it. They are popular. This is why it's called 'Top 40.' How hard can this be?"

Blaine's eyes narrowed in a glare that he directed at his Asian friend. "Don't make me discuss what I found you doing with that gavel last week, Wesley."

Wes blanched. "You wouldn't."

"Bet me?"

The rest of the Warblers observed the standoff with interest. On the one hand, the thought of learning a song that was Not On The List did concern them – if Blaine got his way on this like he had on the duet issue, the next thing you knew he'd be demanding that their step-touches go left-right instead of right-left and there was that whole issue of tie colors that stressed them _all_ out. Plus, what if he wanted them to clap instead of snap?

On the other, they really, really wanted to know about the gavel thing.

Wes broke. "Fine. 'Candles' it is. But only if you two gaze yearningly at each other while you sing it."

"What?" Kurt looked slightly disturbed. Nick and Jeff exchanged high fives and gleeful smiles.

"That's our price. Take it or leave it." When no dissent came from either the hyperactive lead singer or his much, much bitchier (and taller) boyfriend, Wes fondled the gavel before rapping it. "That's settled, then."

Nobody looked particularly happy. Kurt and Blaine seemed rather creeped out by the delighted grins they were getting from Nick and Jeff.

"Can we get back to the argument?" David was curious. "Like, seriously, I know people make fun when Wes and I fight, but you two are minutes away from exchanging blows."

Nick perked up. "Blows? In front of us? You mean like - "

"NO," Blaine and Kurt shouted in unison, horrified. Blaine actually jumped up on the couch in his indignation. Or maybe because that was just what Blaine did. Hard to tell sometimes.

"Jesus, Nick," Wes shook his head. "I think you and Jeff need to get out more often. Back to the subject at hand. Warbler Kurt, Warbler Blaine - "

"Blaine Warbler," Kurt interrupted loftily.

" - whatever. Explain yourselves."

The two lovebirds glanced at each other stonily. "Blaine is utterly wrong," Kurt stated, drawing himself up and sticking his nose in the air.

"No, Kurt is." Blaine drew himself upright as well, which would have been impressive since he was still standing on the couch, but then he fell over. There was no stopping the fierceness of his eyebrows, though, as he scrambled back up to his feet and glared. "Kurt, I hate to break it to you, but you're going to have to accept it."

"Never! Admit Gaga's superiority or I'll dump all your product down the toilet."

"Katy forever, Kurt! She kissed a girl – and she liked it! And it was Katy that brought us together, even Gaga couldn't manage that!"

"If you want to get technical, it was _Puck_ that brought us together – Katy was a coincidence."

"Wait, wait, hold up." David stood up. "Please don't even tell me that you two are fighting over Katy Perry and Lady Gaga."

They looked at him in consternation. Blaine spoke up first this time. "Of course we are. There's no greater difference between us."

"Except in your height," Thad mumbled under his breath.

"What was that, Warbler Thad?" Was arched his eyebrow inquiringly.

Thad contrived to look innocent. "I didn't say anything."

"Mm hmm." Wes looked back at the dueling boyfriends. "I'm going to need the two of you to come to some kind of compromise. And soon. It's getting dark out and Kurt has a long drive ahead of him, since this is not a boarding school and we all know how far Westerville is from Lima. Frankly, I have no idea how the two of you are going to meet for coffee when Kurt inevitably transfers back to McKinley."

"Huh?" Blaine asked. Kurt squirmed uncomfortably.

"We all know he's just a porcelain bird in a gilded cage, Warbler Blaine," Wes informed the little tenor, who was standing and staring at his boyfriend with mournful hazel eyes. "It's just a matter of time, though I would like to applaud him for sticking around and at least trying to help us win Regionals. But I digress." He raised the gavel again and pointed it at them. "You're having an entirely stupid argument. Resolve it."

"Blaine," Kurt began hesitantly, "Your obsession with Katy Perry is adorable. But I think it stems largely in part from the fact that she uses all that sugary sweet candy imagery and you have a Red Vines fetish. It has nothing to do with her musical talent, which I admit she has, but it's nowhere near the caliber of Gaga. Her vocals are thin and her lyrics uninspired."

"Gaga can really sing," Blaine conceded, "And she can definitely write some anthemic, meaningful stuff. But I feel ultimately that her message is lost in a theater of extravagance and overblown electronica."

Kurt leaned intimidatingly and stared Blaine down. It was a short trip. "Take it back."

Blaine climbed up on the couch again so he could look Kurt in the eye. "No."

Kurt took a deep breath. "You leave me no choice. I have to finish this argument now so I can get home and make Finn his warm milk."

"Yeah, why do you do that, anyway?" David asked. "That's kind of weird. Who drinks warm milk?"

"Seriously? A Dalton boy is going to lecture _me_ on the purpose of any tradition whatsoever?" Kurt raised one bitchy eyebrow at the Council member, who crossed his arms and pouted. Wes glared and took David's hand in a soothing, protective gesture.

"You can't talk to him like that, Warbler Kurt."

"Oh, yes I can," the diva assured the Council leader. "But I don't have time for _that_ argument. I'm going to nip _this_ one in the bud and then I'm going to go home and watch _Deadliest Catch_ with my dad."

Wes sighed. "Fine, then get _on_ with it, will you? It's getting late, we still have an impromptu scheduled performance of 'Hey, Soul Sister' to give in the Commons in front of fifty unsuspecting Dalton students who will have totally seen it coming since we do this every night as a surprise."

"I will, thank you." Kurt returned his attention to his tiny little boytoy, who was trying his damndest to look intimidating from his perch atop the couch, but he was a short guy standing on a couch – something was lacking. "Blaine, if you don't concede that Lady Gaga is superior in all ways to Katy Perry, then I will have no choice but to tell my father that you hurt my feelings."

Blaine gasped. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

"But, Kurt," Blaine flailed, "Your dad has a shotgun."

"Yes," the porcelain-skinned former McKinley student agreed. "He certainly does."

"And he said if I hurt you that he'd use it on me," Blaine whimpered.

"Yes. Yes, he did." Kurt confirmed.

Blaine allowed himself to slip down onto the couch cushions with a thump. "You fight dirty, Kurt."

"I do, don't I?" Kurt mused as he leaned, way, way, _way_ down to give Blaine a gentle kiss, their lips fitting together as if they were _made_ for each other. It never failed to move him, just like he moved Blaine. "You love it."

Jeff raised his hand. "Can we hear more about the dirty - "

"NO," shouted everyone but Nick in unison.

"I'm going to leave now," Kurt said, rolling his eyes. "I suggest that before you head to the Commons, you allow Blaine to serenade you with a number from 'A Very Potter Musical' and let him jump all over the furniture so he can cheer up and be ready for your surprising performance that will be no surprise to anyone whatsoever. Oh, wait." He reached into his satchel and pulled out a heavy stack of paper, handing it to his boyfriend with a sly smile. "Here, it's my history homework. Might as well get in all the paper throwing that you can before Ryan Murphy makes you leave this amazing prep school for my weaselly shithole of a public school in season three."

"What?"

"See you tomorrow!" And with that, the flawless countertenor strode imperiously out of the room, managing to look fashionable even in machine-knit polyblend. This left Wes to stroke his gavel lasciviously before bringing it down on the tabletop.

"All those in favor?"

And in a cloud of paper, the motion was carried with dapper enthusiasm.

_**Author's Note: **I can be found and flogged at Tumblr (glass-parade) or LJ (a_glass_parade)_


End file.
